“I wish the Kubalese had never come to Burgdeeth,” Tra. Hoppa said. “That trader brought me more than the forbidden book, he brought rumors that are unsettling. It is said in the south that Kubla is arming for war.”
“Against who?” Zephy said, going cold.
“It would not be Carriol,” Tra. Hoppa said. “They are too strong.”
“Cloffi,” Meatha breathed. “Cloffi and Urobb and Farr all lie on the Kubalese border.”
“And if they attack one,” Zephy said slowly, “they will attack all three.”
They stared at each other, the thought of war chilling them. “It is only rumors,” Tra. Hoppa said. “But I would wish you two away if such a thing should happen.”
Then she smiled. “Come, there’s otter-herb tea brewing, and nightberry muffins made with berries from the mountain. Young Thorn of Dunoon brought them down.”
Thorn of Dunoon?
But of course, he came to Tra. Hoppa for lessons. In turn, be taught the younger children of Dunoon. And, Zephy wondered suddenly, what kind of lessons did Thorn of Dunoon receive? Ordinary ones, like the boys of Burgdeeth? Or did Thorn come to the loft and read the secret books as she and Meatha did?
She had no reason to suspect such a thing. And she would never ask. Yet—perhaps Thorn of Dunoon was the kind of boy Tra. Hoppa would teach with great interest.
SIX
Ere’s moons waxed to brightness and waned again before the night that, while Cloffi lay sleeping, the Kubalese army rose up, and the little country of Urobb was destroyed.
The attack came down on Urobb on the first night of the Festival of Fish Taking, driving the Urobb tribes back from the river where they had gathered for the fish-rituals, and into the waiting platoons of the Kubalese Horse that had slipped like silent whispers in from the borders of Kubal. A long thin country, Urobb now was squeezed to nothing in the meshing of the two companies of Kubalese warriors, caught and trapped between them just as they themselves had planned to net the breeding shummerfins that swam the River Urobb.
The villages were burned and the women raped and put to labor at food gathering and cooking for the Kubalese bivouacs that remained behind. The hooved animals, horses and donkeys, were taken with the army as bounty, and the meager country, which had only its coal to sell and its fish and mountain crops to sustain it, lay fallen only a few hours after the attack began.
Now that Urobb was taken, Kubal’s land extended to the Urobb River. East of the river lay Carriol—Kubal would not attack her—then the sea. But to the west of Kubal lay Farr and Cloffi. Rivers are coveted, they water crops and herds, and they carry gold in their sands. Kubal had the Urobb. Now she eyed the Owdneet that ran down through the center of Cloffi then through Aybil and Farr to the sea.
The escaped and terrified miner who brought the message to Cloffi predicted in a breaking voice Farr’s certain demise, and then Aybil’s, his eyes red from lack of sleep and from fear and hunger. “And then,” he said, almost triumphantly, “and then it will be Cloffi. It will be Cloffi they rape and destroy.” His voice was filled with a passion of hatred as he stared up at Thorn—for it was Thorn who found him slipping along in the brush of the river outside Burgdeeth.
The little Urobb miner had come up along the river instead by the road, hiding in the bushes at night and eating of sablevine roots and of berries and morliespongs. When the distraught man saw Thorn, he stared at him as if he stared at death itself, and turned to run but Thorn grabbed him. Thorn saw the man’s terror and took him to a sheltered place behind a stand of wild vetchpea. He held out his waterskin, though the river was close, and gave the man his ration of bread and goatsmilk cheese, slicing them on the flat surface of a boulder. The miner ate as if he had not seen proper food for days.
Squally, his name was. When he had told Thorn his story, he wanted to be taken at once up the mountain, before he could be seized and held by the Landmaster. “And I will be, don’t doubt you that. I came secretly up the river to give my news freely to the common men of Burgdeeth, not to the Landmaster—there is a Kubal here, is there not, young goatherd?”
Thorn nodded and sat studying the small, wiry miner whose eyes squinted as if the light of common day was too bright after a lifetime in the coal mines.
“It was so in Sibot Hill, a Kubalese has come there. I had to slip away by night lest they imprison me. The Kubalese have made some bargain with the Landmaster of Sibot Hill. The Landmaster stood before his people and swore there would be no attack from Kubal. He would have sent me to sleep in the Sibot Hill cells, had I not escaped. It will be the same in Burgdeeth. There is no place left save Dunoon where a man can be safe, not this side of the Urobb, boy.”
“We’ll tell the people of Burgdeeth though,” Thorn said shortly. “We’ll get away before the Deacons hear of it.” If we’re quick, he thought. If we’re lucky. But he knew they had to try.
They made their way through the high stand of whitebarley that separated the river from Burgdeeth and into the back streets and alleys, then to the Inn. But the Kubalese was taking his noon meal there; Thorn could see him through the unshuttered window. He led the Urobb away, to the forgeshop.
Shanner Eskar lay sprawled across a bench, eating charp fruit. Thorn greeted him, then gave his attention to the Forgemaster, who sat at his work table drinking a bowl of broth. Old Yelig honored Thorn with a rare smile, and Thorn went to him and laid his hand on the old man’s shoulder. “We have uneasy business to speak of, Yelig. Business the Landmaster won’t sanction. Would you rather we went elsewhere?”
“I’ve not gotten so old and crusty by hiding from the Deacons of Burgdeeth. That is why I am still master of my shop and not playing stones on the street. A bit of serious business isn’t going to harm me, lad. Now what is it that brings you here with a face as long as a river-owl’s?”
“Urobb has been taken, defeated. This is Squally from Urobb; he brought the news. He feared to bring such to the Landmaster.”
Shanner was staring at Thorn, his eyes dark. “He is right. The Landmaster won’t let the news be known. He claims there will be no attack, even though we’ve been drilling the whole Burgdeeth Horse every day. He’s as touchy as a trapped weasel. There’s something afoot, and you’d best be out of it, Yelig.”
The old man’s streaked hair was a bristly thatch across his ears. He stared at Shanner for a long minute, then sat back and motioned the miner to make himself comfortable.
As the story was told, Yelig’s expression grew more grim, as did Shanner’s, and when it was finished, Squally, exhausted with his own emotion, they sat silent. Then at last Shanner glanced up though the window. “The Kubalese will be back after his meal. We’d best spread the word.” He looked at Thorn, motioned to the Urobb, and the three of them went out.
*
Zephy was scrubbing cookpots when she heard shouting in the street. She ran out, leaving the greasy water in the basin, her hands dripping—men had gathered in the street, it looked like all of Burgdeeth.
“Don’t let anyone tell you . . .”
“The Landmaster said they . . .”
“But it’s war.”